


Preying on You

by crochetaway



Series: Drabbles and OneShots [129]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25610926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crochetaway/pseuds/crochetaway
Summary: A chance meeting and Hermione finds out a long hidden secret.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Drabbles and OneShots [129]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/627092
Comments: 15
Kudos: 171
Collections: 2020 Sounds Like Dramione





	Preying on You

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [2020SoundsLikeDramione](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2020SoundsLikeDramione) collection. 



> **Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me but are the property of J.K.R. and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended. Thank you to my alpha and/or beta for their time and help.**
> 
> **Many thanks to my beta Fae Orabel! If you liked this (or hated it) let me know about it in a review!**
> 
> **The prompt for my story was “Baby I'm preying on you tonight, Hunt you down eat you alive” from Animals by Maroon 5.**

* * *

Draco Malfoy’s deepest shame was what he turned into every month during the full moon. His failures during the war were punished in the harshest way possible. He’d even briefly considered suicide before Potter won the war for good. Those had been the worst months of his life. Being locked up in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor during each full moon. Unable to see the moon. Unable to have Wolfsbane Potion to ease the pain. And worse, Greyback’s pack just outside running through the woods surrounding the Manor, and Draco was forbidden from joining them.

Not that he wanted to be a part of Greyback’s pack. They were downright savage. Most of them never attended Hogwarts and are barely able to use any magic. Draco shuddered just to think of them. But his wolf called to them, the rest of his pack by circumstance, not by choice.

Five years after the war, he was still packless, but most of Greyback’s pack had either died or been imprisoned during the final battle at Hogwarts. Not being part of a pack was hard, however, it was better than the idea of being part of Greyback’s. He no longer felt the pull, which made it easier. He’d also hired a Charms Master to ward the woods that surrounded the Manor, which allowed him to run during the full moons instead of being cooped up in the Manor. He eschewed Wolfsbane most months because it was easier on him and the wolf if he allowed nature to take its course and run every month. Wolfsbane made him tired, haggard-looking, and Draco couldn’t allow that. His secret was safe only as long as he continued to pass in real life.

Passing meant not being tired and sick every month around the full moon. It meant being able to live a completely normal life while nobody caught on to his dirty little secret. It certainly wasn’t easy, but Draco was used to things not being easy. At least It wasn’t complicated. For the most part, people didn’t pay close enough attention to realize he typically left work at the Ministry a half-hour before sundown before each full moon in the winter. The summer months it was easy as it stayed light until past ten in the evening.

So far, he’d pulled it off. Five years and counting and not a single person in his real-life suspected. It did make dating difficult. That’s not to say he didn’t date, but he had to be careful to schedule dates around the full moon, and he couldn’t allow anyone to get too close to him. His mother had begun hinting at marriage and grandchildren, but Draco hadn’t yet worked out how he would hide being a werewolf from a future wife.

Most of his friends were getting married, pure-bloods tended to marry young, and his father had begun making noises that all the pure-blood girls his age would be married off. His parents conveniently forgot his monthly affliction. Burying their heads in the sand as if being a werewolf wasn’t a dealbreaker to every eligible witch his age.

In his spare time, he was experimenting with Wolfsbane, to see if he could mitigate the effects of becoming a wolf at all each month, but so far, nothing he had tested had actually worked. The effects of a failed Wolfsbane potion were worse than the potion itself, so Draco was careful to only test it three or four times a year. It made for a very slow going process, experimentation-wise.

Another month and another moon was upon him. Thankfully it was summer, and he even had time to grab a pint with the lads from the Hit Wizards office before having to head home and prepare for his run.

As Draco stripped down, he could feel the moon calling. He bundled his clothes under a tree and waited for the change to come. It wasn’t long before the moon called to him, and his body rippled and broke itself only to be remade as a wolf. He’d figured out long ago that leaning into the change instead of fighting it made it go so much smoother and faster. It was still incredibly painful, but the pain didn’t last.

He let loose a long howl that felt like an exhalation at finally being one with the creature who lurked inside of him the rest of the month. Then Draco let his mind drift and the wolf took over, sprinting through the woods, following any scent he picked up on.

When he first began running through the woods, the killing and eating of small animals had freaked him out. He would come in the next morning and spend a good twenty minutes brushing his teeth, sure that he could still feel the tufts of fur or the gristle of bone along his gums.

These days, he largely ignored the wolf during the monthly runs. He used the time to work on cases in his mind. It wasn’t completely wasted time as he had found several connections and insights on past cases during his monthly runs.

This month, something was different. He could smell it the moment he’d changed. The wolf was still running all over with no rhyme or reason, but there was an underlying scent that lingered from the south. At first, Draco assumed it was Muggles down at Stonehenge. The Malfoy woods backed up on the monument but were so heavily warded that the Muggles had no idea. But the scent was too alluring to be random Muggles. It was hard to explain, but he knew he wanted to get closer. Eventually, the wolf decided he, too, wanted to track it down.

He took off at a sprint, heading due south, dodging trees and jumping over fallen logs and some of the larger undergrowth. The wards stopped him at the edge of the wood, but he could see her. Clearly a female, she was at Stonehenge, her wand in her hand with magic pouring from it and both wolf and wizard were entranced.

* * *

She could feel the eyes on her halfway through the ritual. It made her falter, but she caught herself before letting the magic collapse around her. That would be detrimental for herself and whoever it was that had stumbled across her. She hoped it wasn’t a Muggle. It _shouldn’t_ be a Muggle, she’d set up some pretty extensive wards around the standing stones, even a wizard shouldn’t have been able to see through them.

But here she was.

She knew someone was watching her in that instinctual way that everyone knew. The hair stood up on the back of her neck. Her flight or fight instinct kicked in, and Hermione fought down the flight as she always had done. The thing about being Harry Potter’s best friend was that even if she wanted to flee, Harry wanted to fight, and Hermione had never left Harry’s side. She’d always fought against her own nature to stand at his side, and while it served her well then, she wondered if it was an instinct she should unlearn now as an adult.

Doing one final turn, her wand was still raised and the magic poured out of it. The magic circled the stones in a bright blue glow. The ritual ended, but the feeling of being watched did not. She needed to break the circle and then assess whether whoever was doing the watching was a danger. She prayed it was a witch or wizard. She hadn’t exactly gotten permission to use Stonehenge this way and hated to have to call the Ministry in the case that it was a Muggle.

Hermione worked quickly to clear the ritual items and break the circle, keeping her wand clutched in one hand the entire time. When she was finished, she faced the north to see who it was that still had eyes on her and…

Didn’t see anything.

She squinted, holding her wand up and casting a wordless _Lumos_ as she slowly made her way toward the treeline she could see in the distance. There was something there, under the brush, but she couldn’t quite make it out.

It was when she stepped within a foot of the trees that she felt the wards. They sucked her in and when she tried to turn to leave, they wouldn’t let her.

“Well, fuck,” she muttered to herself, turning back quickly to face whoever it was that was hiding in the brush.

Or _what_ ever it was, as she realized that it might not be a person, but some sort of animal—a magical one, she felt sure. She kneeled down, lifting a branch and came face-to-face with a pure-white wolf.

 _Not a wolf_ , a voice that sounded like Professor Lupin whispered in her mind. No, it wasn’t a wolf at all, it was a werewolf.

She gasped and fell back onto her bum, scrambling to try and get away from it, when it emerged from the bushes and stood over her, cocking its head to the side as it stared her down. She noted quickly that it was definitely a werewolf, it’s snout was shorter, it had the classic tufted tail, and the ice-blue eyes that were staring at her were entirely too intelligent to be a wolf’s.

Shockingly, the werewolf was not attacking her. Nor had it made any attempt to do so, it just stood there, watching her.

“Who are you?” She reached a hand out, allowing it to sniff her. It did, taking several small sniffs, before pressing its head against her hand. She was surprised, and gave it a small pet. It showed every indication of enjoying the attention, so she scratched it behind the ears. It made a completely doggy expression at her then, its mouth falling open and tongue hanging out as she began using both hands.

“I thought I knew all the Ministry-registered werewolves,” Hermione said to herself as she studied the animal before her. “But you are definitely not listed. I wonder why?” She bent over and took a peek underneath its belly, then flushed. “Well, that’s half the equation figured out, isn’t it, boy?”

The werewolf seemed to grin at her and bumped her hand again, clearly indicating he wanted another head scritch. Hermione happily obliged since it seemed she was stuck here.

“I think you need your wards looked at,” she told him. “I don’t know if you can understand me. I never did get a chance to ask Remus how aware he was during his changes. But if you can, you need to fix them so that nobody can just wander in.”

Although, this werewolf was not acting typical of werewolves at all. Normally, werewolves had a biological need to hunt humans to turn them into werewolves, and this one was downright docile. It begged the question of why? What was different about this one?

Or was it her? That was a possibility she hadn’t considered. And if it was her—again, why? It was a mystery that she certainly wasn’t going to solve until the sun rose and whoever it was turned back into a human.

“Well, what would you like to do, since it seems we’re stuck here. Should we head back to your dwelling?” She stood then and began walking north. The werewolf pranced around her as she walked, romping and thumping into her thighs occasionally as it ran through the underbrush, chasing scents, but never straying too far from her. The woods were huge, she walked for close to an hour and there still seemed to be no end in sight.

“I hope you know your way out of here,” she muttered to the wolf after finding a small clearing. She sat with her back against a tree and the wolf curled up at her side, placing his head in her lap. His too-intelligent eyes gazed up at her and for a moment, they looked familiar, but it slipped away. She shook her head and put her hand on his neck, leaning back and closing her eyes. By her watch, the sun still wouldn’t be up for another hour or more. She hadn’t planned to spend all night out here and was exhausted. It wasn’t long until she fell asleep, her hand still curled in the ruff of the mystery werewolf.

* * *

Hermione woke up with the sun shining right into her eyes. She groaned, squinting, and realized that her hand was no longer in the soft, fluff of a werewolf, but instead on warm skin. When her eyes adjusted to the light she gasped at who lay in her lap, completely naked.

“Draco?” Her voice was hoarse and she coughed, clearing her throat.

He woke at the noise and sat up quickly, taking in his surroundings much quicker than Hermione had. He flicked a hand out and a pair of sweatpants came flying into them from somewhere off to her right.

“Do you mind?” he asked. He was still sitting but held his sweats in his hand. The undergrowth provided enough coverage that she couldn’t see anything too private. She blushed and closed her eyes, turning away from him.

“Alright,” he said quietly, and she opened her eyes to see him holding a hand out for her, sweatpants hanging low from his hips. She tried not to ogle him as she grasped his hand and he hauled her to her feet.

“My wards should not have let you in,” he said as he began leading her through the trees. “I had them professionally done, and in five years, you’re the first person to have been able to cross them.”

“Why?” Hermione asked, keeping an eye on her feet to make sure she didn’t fall.

“I’m not sure.” He sounded like he was lying, but Hermione dropped it for the moment. There would be time later to think about it. Her back and neck hurt from leaning against a tree most of the night, and she very badly wanted to go home and crawl into bed.

“So it’s been five years? Was it during the war? The final battle?” She had her eyes on the line of his pale, bare shoulders and watched as they tensed at her questions.

“Before the final battle,” he answered gruffly. If he was bitten before the final battle, that meant it had to have been Greyback, right? Why? Was it some sort of accident or punishment? She longed to ask him but judging by how tense his body was, as if he were spoiling for a fight, he wouldn’t want to answer her, so she refrained.

A moment later and they had emerged from the trees. A huge green meadow stood between them and Malfoy Manor, which was about a quarter of a mile away on a small rise. She knew that it was in Wiltshire, she just had no idea it was so close to Stonehenge.

“I can Apparate,” Hermione said hurriedly, unwilling to go into the house and Floo home. It may have been five years since the war, but she had no desire to enter that house.

Draco whirled around to look at her, studying her face for a long moment. “We should talk.”

“How about not today,” Hermione replied. “I’m exhausted. I really just want to crawl into bed.”

Draco tensed again, his jaw clenching tightly and Hermione wondered what she had said that upset him.

“I don’t live at the Manor itself anymore,” Draco offered. “We could Apparate to my flat to talk. I cook a mean omelette.”

Hermione wanted to beg off, she did, but there was clearly something wrong. Something that had to do with her, and Draco was her friend. They worked rather closely together in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He was a Hit Wizard, and she was an analyst for the department.

“Alright,” she agreed. Draco held out his arm, and she slid her hand along the warm skin of his elbow.

After confirming that she was ready, he twisted to his left and Apparated them away. They landed a moment later in the foyer of what seemed like a very high-end flat. Much nicer than hers anyway. The foyer led into a sitting room that had a small step-down. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a magnificent view of London.

“So you just go to the Manor for the full moon, then?” Hermione asked. They hadn’t said anything in so long, that she felt like she needed to fill the silence with something.

Draco nodded and then moved past the sitting room to a chef’s kitchen. He began pulling out a pan and the ingredients for omelettes.

“You don’t have to cook for me,” Hermione said. “We could just talk.”

“Sit down, Granger,” he muttered, indicating the island.

She frowned and sat down, watching him as he whipped together the eggs and then set the teapot to boiling on the stove.

“Why do you cook like a Muggle?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

He shrugged. “I’m not great at cooking charms, actually. I find this easier, and it’s relaxing.”

A moment later, he slid an omelette and a teacup in front of her and then took the seat next to her. The omelette was good—really good—full of ham and cheese and just a hint of spinach.

When they were finished, he still hadn’t said anything. Hermione bit her lip, unable to figure out how to broach the topic with him. It was clearly something he didn’t want people to know about. He’d been hiding his condition for five years for Merlin’s sake.

“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to,” she said finally, setting her hand on his arm.

He stiffened beneath her and inhaled sharply. She started to move her hand, but he grabbed it with his free one, holding it in place as he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.

“Draco?”

“Give me a minute, Granger,” he said through gritted teeth.

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see as he took several deep breaths and finally opened his eyes to give her a sharp look.

“What is it?” she whispered. Something in his look made her think that whatever it was he was about to say, it was going to change her life forever.

“It’s not fair,” he told her, turning in his seat to face her completely. He removed her hand from his arm and held it in both of his hands.

“Of course, it’s not,” Hermione said. “I’m so sorry. You had it worse than almost anyone and then to be bitten, it’s just—”

“Not that.” He closed his eyes again, shaking his head. “No, that wasn’t fair, but this isn't either.” He fixed her with another piercing gaze.

She furrowed her brow, trying to work out what he was attempting to tell her without saying the actual words, but she didn’t get it. She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

His laugh was short and bark-like. He sounded so much like Sirius for a moment that Hermione exhaled quickly. It always came as a surprise when she found similarities between the two, forgetting that they were related.

“You’re going to hate me more than you ever did when we were children,” he whispered quietly. “I can take it if you aren’t interested, but please don’t hate me.”

“First, I never hated you when we were children,” Hermione insisted. She put both hands in his. “Sure, you were an egotistical jerk, but I didn’t hate you. Never did. Never could.”

“Salazar, you’re making this hard for me.” He swallowed heavily and looked away from her. She wasn’t sure, but she thought his eyes looked suspiciously wet. Whatever it was, was bloody serious.

“Please, just tell me, Draco,” she begged. When he didn’t turn to look at her, she twisted a hand free and placed it on his cheek, pushing his head back around so she could see his eyes. She wasn’t wrong, they shimmered with unshed tears.

“Don’t hate me,” he whispered again, his chin trembling.

She couldn’t stand it anymore, and threw her arms around him, pulling him into a fierce hug as she stood from her barstool. “Whatever it is,” she said into his ear, “I won’t hate you. I promise. We can figure it out.”

He snorted into her neck, his arms tightening around her waist, and she had a feeling he was about to put her off again, so she stepped back and placed her hands on either side of his face, her forehead pressed to his.

“Please, just tell me,” she said, staring into his eyes.

He kissed her instead. She blinked as his warm lips slid over hers, then her eyes fluttered close and she melted into his embrace. They had been friends for the last few years, growing closer than she had thought possible. But she had no idea he felt this way about her. Especially since she was so careful in hiding her own crush on him. While normally, she would be second guessing this, it felt too good, too right, too bloody perfect to even think about pulling away as he slid his tongue along hers.

She ran her hands through his hair, pulling him closer as his arms tightened around her, practically hauling her into his lap. Someplace she desperately wanted to be, but couldn’t quite figure out how to clamber up there. She had just lifted a leg to try when he pulled back.

“Fuck. I shouldn’t have done that,” he groaned, closing his eyes as he buried his head into her shoulder.

She froze. What could he possibly mean by that? Oh god, had she been that transparent in her want? She was sure he kissed her, but maybe she kissed him? It was clear he regretted it, and she began trying to extricate herself from his grasp, but he held on tight.

“Don’t go,” he whispered.

She bit her lip, he seemed so tortured, but she was getting quite fed up with this hot and cold business. Pushing herself firmly back from the circle of his arms, so she could think clearly, she put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Tell me what is going on right now, Draco Malfoy.”

Her sharp words seemed to have shaken something loose in him. He pulled himself together, straightening his shoulders and giving her a haughty look. One she hadn’t seen in several years.

“Nothing,” he spat and slid off the stool, picking up the plates as he went.

“I don’t think so,” she muttered under her breath and stalked after him. She poked her index finger at his back as he washed up their plates and the skillet he used to make the omelettes.

“Why are you so annoying?” he finally groaned, whirling around to face her.

“ _You_ brought me here,” she reminded him, crossing her arms over her chest and lifting her chin. “You told _me_ we needed to talk. Well, I’m here. So out with it. What’s going on? Why was I able to cross your supposedly impenetrable wards? Why didn’t your werewolf instincts take over and have you attack me?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“It mattered an hour ago!” she shouted at him. “Nothing could have changed in the last hour that it suddenly doesn’t matter now.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and anger emanating off of every line in his body. “Well, it doesn’t bloody matter now. I’ve changed my mind.” His voice was icy, cold. And she felt like she was back in Hogwarts with the way he was looking at and speaking to her.

She took a deep breath. “Draco,” she uncrossed her arms and grasped his hands with hers, “please, just tell me. I won’t be upset. Whatever it is, whatever is going on, we’ll figure it out. I meant it when I said it before.”

His shoulders sagged, their anger at each other ebbed away as they both breathed deeply. “You’re my mate,” he said quietly. Almost so quietly she didn’t hear it. “It’s why the wards let you through, it’s why I didn’t attack you—couldn’t attack you—even if I had wanted to.”

Hermione let her mouth fall open in shock. His mate? Like Tonks was to Remus? Was this why he had kissed her? Merlin, it only made her feel like more of an idiot.

“I see,” she said slowly, backing away from him.

“Wait, Hermione.” He reached out a hand and grabbed her wrist before she could turn away from him entirely. She stood there woodenly, waiting for him to say his piece. “You can’t just demand I tell you, then walk away without telling me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

She snorted. “Did you think I was pretty before you found out I was your mate?” she turned, asking him.

He wrinkled his nose. “Uh…”

“How long have you known I was your mate?” she asked him, furrowing her brow at him.

“Since you were tortured in Malfoy Manor,” he whispered, unable to meet her gaze.

She gasped and gaped up at him. Five years. Five bloody years he had known she was his mate and never said a word. All this time, she’d harbored her little crush and here…

“Were you ever planning on telling me?” She cocked her head in curiosity. She had turned around and was fully facing him now.

“Not if I could help it,” he replied evenly. At her arched eyebrow, he hurried on, “Because I didn’t want you to feel indebted, or that you didn’t have a choice. I shouldn’t have said anything this time and just chalked it up to the wards needing renewed, but Merlin, you looked so bloody gorgeous in the sunlight this morning. I was so happy to have come across you last night, my feelings and emotions were all over the place. I…”

He took a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t want you to be indebted or feel like you don’t have a choice. If you have no interest in a relationship with me, it’s fine. I’ll understand.”

She marveled at his control. Five years he’d kept his secret, and even now, he was offering her a way out. It was unheard of in werewolf populations.

“And if I want to give it a try?” Hermione asked, stepping closer to him. “If I don’t mind the idea of being your mate?”

A low growl came from his throat, and his hands slipped around her waist. “Say it again.”

“Your mate,” she purred up at him as he dipped his lips to hers once more.

“Mine,” he said between kisses.

She pulled back and looked up at him. “Since we’re confessing things… I should probably tell you that I might have fancied you for a bit.”

“Like, maybe three years or so?” he asked with a smirk on his face.

Her jaw dropped. “How did you know?” She thought she had kept it so well hidden.

“About the time we started working together regularly, your scent changed. It seemed more… welcoming, I guess.”

“That’s kind of weird,” she said with a small laugh.

Draco threw his head back and guffawed. “You’re right, it is. Sorr—”

She pressed her hand to his lips. “Don’t ever apologize for being who you are,” she told him fiercely. “I don’t know what’s in store for us, but I would like to explore this mate business with you.”

She stood up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lips again. Yes, she would very much like to explore this mate business.

_**~Fin~** _


End file.
